The YA at the table caught sight of them first.
Sage’s brows shot up.
Ocean froze mid-sip, glass hovering at his lips.
Syx went still, assessing in a way that bordered on predatory.
Vale didn’t blink.
And Hale—Hale looked up slowly, eyes dragging over the two of them as if cataloging every flushed line, every shifted breath, every micro-second they’d been gone.
Viper slid his hand to the small of Titus’s back. Subtle. Claiming. Necessary.
Titus didn’t shove it off. Not yet.
Hale’s smile curved. Polished. Curious. A little too knowing.
Viper reminded himself—this was Titus’s op. Keep it simple.
“Hale,” he said evenly. “I trust my friends have introduced themselves.”
Memphis dipped his head—respectful and watching.
Rhett gave a slight nod, posture easy but coiled underneath.
Law didn’t bother pretending; he just grunted.
Hale’s gaze passed over each of them, but lingered when Sage leaned forward, arm draped across the back of the booth. Sage flashed a grin—light, charming, dangerous in its own way.
“Hale was just entertaining us with stories from Titus’s college days,” Sage said.
Hale smiled and watched Sage like a man considering the menu.
Law shifted an inch closer to Sage—the move was small, but unmistakable.
Hale’s eyes cut back to Titus, lingering too long. Viper felt the first spark of jealousy hit—sharp, unwelcome, very real.
Titus registered Hale’s attention—Viper saw it in the quick flick of his eyes, the jaw tightening. Interesting.
Hale leaned back, one arm stretching along the seat, his gaze never leaving Titus.
“You should come to my private party tomorrow night,” he said lightly. “Bring your beautiful people.”
His gaze flicked to Viper.
Then to Sage.
“We’ll see,” Viper said, each word cold enough to frost glass.
Hale’s mouth twitched. Amused. Testing.
“We’ll be there,” Titus said—shooting him an annoyed look.
Titus’s words undercut Viper’s frost cleanly enough to sting.
Viper grimaced. Damned op.
Hale caught it—of course, he did—and his smile edged wider.
